


Hardest Thing to Keep From You

by natacup82



Category: Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Hook-Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 04:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natacup82/pseuds/natacup82
Summary: All Bruce wanted was to get Barry to separate his civilian life from his new life as a hero, things don’t really go as planned.





	Hardest Thing to Keep From You

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Thanks to abby for the beta and misspamela for taking an early look.  
> 2\. Let's call this fic an exercise in re-learning how to write sex and also taking the joke too far. (There is a thread on twitter where we were joking about Ezra Miller wanting a Daddy and things spiraled out of control from there. )  
> 3\. There is no daddy kink in this fic because it turns out that's too much for me.

Bruce arrives at in the alley behind the abandoned building Barry calls a home at 7 am on a Sunday morning. It’s early enough that Barry should still be both home and in bed, if all of Bruce’s observations of him are right, and they usually are. 

It’s been months since they fought Steppenwolf, months since Barry started the job Bruce pushed him toward, and yet here he is still living off the grid in a shithole on the wrong side of Central City. 

The door is unlocked, and Bruce rolls his eyes at the unending stupidity of leaving your damn off-the-grid lair unlocked. Just because he thinks no one else can find him doesn’t mean he won’t find some new enemy running around Central City. 

It’s still messy; clothes, shoes, and notebooks are strewn about, and there’s a new version of his suit in progress in the middle of the room. Bruce hears water running in what he’s sure is a nightmare hellscape of a bathroom. He takes a seat in what he remembers was Barry’s second favorite chair and waits. 

A few minutes later Barry comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips and, inexplicably, a donut in his mouth. He starts when he spots Bruce in his chair. 

“Are you always going to show up like this? Just sitting in my chair after breaking and entering?” Barry asks, before zipping away and coming back with boxers and a Superman t-shirt on. 

Bruce sits back in the chair and raises an eyebrow at Barry’s choice of shirt. He knows Central City has folks selling Flash t-shirts, Barry could at least wear his own logo. “Why do you still live here?” Bruce asks, gesturing around him.

“The rent’s cheap?” Barry says, trailing off into a question. “I like it here.”

Bruce scoffs, standing up and walking in a circle around Barry. “This place is a health and fire hazard,” Bruce says. He stops in front of him, glaring, “You have enemies now; you can keep this as a base, but you can’t live here.”

“You do know,” Barry says, gesturing with the half a donut that he’s somehow not managed to stuff down his throat, “that I don’t actually have any money, right? I mean, the job is good, but, like, it’s _can afford groceries_ good, not _rent_ good.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. People always worry about money like he doesn’t have plenty to spare. He steps into Barry’s personal space -- he seems to respond well to physical intimidation -- and says,“I can pay for your apartment until you’re making enough to cover it. Stop making excuses.”

Barry giggles, and Bruce frowns at him. “Sorry, sorry,” Barry says, then coughs. “Seriously, I can’t take your money, that would be weird. I’ve got a job, and I like this place. It’s cool.”

Bruce makes a face. He’s sure Alfred would laugh at whatever his face is doing at the idea of this shithole being cool. “It’s not weird to take my money. Besides, I don’t have to give it directly to you, I’ll just buy whatever apartment building you pick,” Bruce says, waving a hand toward the door. 

“What? No. You want to buy me an apartment building? No.” Barry is giggling again. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t know why I keep making that sound.”

Bruce stares at him, then takes stock. Barry’s pupils are dilated, there’s a bead of sweat starting at his hairline above his eyebrow, and he keeps giggling. If Bruce had Clark’s abilities, he’s pretty sure he’d hear Barry’s heart racing more as he invades his space. Bruce reviews all of their previous interactions in his head, trying to find a common thread, before he realizes what’s been happening. 

Huh, Bruce thinks, surprised. He’s never been one to focus on other people’s attraction to him if it doesn’t serve a purpose, and apparently now it can help Barry do as he’s told. 

“Why are you being so difficult?” Bruce asks, taking another step forward into Barry’s space. Barry takes a step back, almost tripping over his own feet.

Bruce doesn’t stop moving forward, and Barry keeps backing up until his back hits the wall. He giggles, again. Bruce keeps stepping forward until they’re pressed together and Barry has nowhere to run.

“Who’s being difficult? I’m not being difficult. I’m never difficult,” Barry says, babbling. 

“Barry,” Bruce says, sliding a hand up Barry’s neck. He brushes his thumb along Barry’s lower lip and takes a sharp inhale of breath when Barry’s tongue peeks out to tap it before he sucks it into his mouth. “See, now you’re not being difficult,” Bruce says, smiling slightly and pulling his thumb out of Barry’s mouth. 

Barry bites his lip. He’s breathing heavily, Bruce can feel it all along his chest where they’re touching. “So this is, uh, I’m not, uh. This isn’t just a particularly vivid sex dream? Because mine usually aren’t this detailed,” Barry says, laughing almost hysterically. 

Bruce barely resists rolling his eyes. The sex had better be fantastic and Barry had better agree to move tomorrow to put up with this. “I’d like to hope I don’t wear suits in your sex dreams,” Bruce says, and then he kisses him to shut him up. 

Barry doesn’t hesitate to kiss him back, arms coming up around Bruce’s neck. Bruce lets his hand slide down to Barry’s waist, pushing it up under his t-shirt to feel the hard planes of his stomach. 

He drops his hand into Barry’s boxers and palms his dick, lightly at first, then firmly, and starts stroking his dick. Barry moans into Bruce’s mouth, fingers digging into Bruce’s shoulder. Barry drops his hands from Bruce’s shoulders down to his belt, using his speed to get Bruce’s belt undone and his pants down between one stroke of Bruce’s hand and the next. 

Bruce steps out of his pants and uses his free hand to push Barry’s boxers down. He’s reaching for Barry’s hip to pull them back together when Barry disappears for what feels like minutes and then zips back in, panting. “Sorry, sorry,” Barry says, reaching up to push Bruce’s jacket off his shoulders. 

“What the hell, Allen?” Bruce says, letting Barry manhandle him out of his shirt before pushing him back up against the wall and sucking a bruise he knows will be gone within the day into his neck.

Barry gasps, hitching one of his legs up on Bruce’s hip and leaning his head back to give Bruce better access to his neck. “I, uh,” Barry says, moaning as their dicks slide together. “Gotta be prepared.” Barry grabs Bruce’s hand and drags it down to his hole, letting Bruce feel how he’s slick and open already. 

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Bruce says, kissing him and sliding a finger into him to check for himself that he’s ready enough. 

Barry moans again, breaking the kiss, and mumbles, “Don’t tease,” against Bruce’s lips. 

Bruce nods and gets a better grip on Barry’s leg, sliding in slowly, trying to distract himself with thoughts of lifting Barry up fully and fucking him until his legs give out. He dismisses the idea as impractical and then starts fucking Barry in earnest, slow at first, all of his senses narrowed down to the hand gripping his forearm and the tight hot heat surrounding his dick. 

It’s been way too long since anything other than his hand has touched Bruce’s dick, so he knows it’s not going to last. But luckily, Barry’s metabolism is ridiculous, so they’re in the same boat. 

Bruce speeds up, fucking Barry harder and faster, suddenly overwhelmed by the steady stream of filth spilling out of Barry’s mouth as he begs Bruce to fuck him harder, by the feeling of Barry’s fingers digging marks into his shoulder. It’s not long before Barry is mumbling, “Oh fuck,” and coming all over Bruce and himself. Bruce groans as Barry clenches around him and comes, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead on Barry’s shoulder. 

He lets Barry’s leg drop back down to the floor and catches his breath for a minute before pressing a stupid, overly familiar kiss to Barry’s collar and pulling out. Bruce doesn’t move away just yet, letting Barry drape himself over him for a few more moments before he pushes away and starts trying to untangle the mess of his boxers and pants. 

Barry is still leaning against the wall looking stunned by the time Bruce is mostly dressed again, or as dressed as he’s going to get to go jump in his car and drive back to the airport. Bruce slips on his jacket and raises an eyebrow at Barry, slumped against the wall, naked. 

Barry makes a face but then zips out of the room and zips back in sweatpants and a tank top. “Better?” Barry says, crossing his arms and looking everywhere but at Bruce. 

“Much,” Bruce says, frowning. “It’s weird to be the only person in the room wearing clothes.” Bruce straightens the cuffs of his jacket and clears his throat. “So you won’t be living here anymore,” he says. It’s not a question. 

“I’m not moving into the first building you buy, Bruce,” Barry says, still being annoyingly stubborn even while looking thoroughly fucked out. “I need to at least like the place and the neighborhood.”

Bruce sighs. “Fine.” He pulls out his phone and taps out a few quick emails. “You’ll just have to move into the manor until you find a place you like. I’ll send a car for you tomorrow at 6 pm, don’t be late.”

“Okay,” Barry says. Then he looks up, finally making eye contact with Bruce, and says, “Wait, what?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “You’re not about to tell me you have a problem with moving into my mansion? The pantry is enormous, the water pressure is better than whatever you’ve got rigged up here, and the rent is free.”

“Free is my favorite number,” Barry says, finally.

“Good,” Bruce says. “I’m glad you’ve decided to stop being difficult. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then he walks out. 

*  
Bruce isn’t at the manor when Barry arrives. He’s got meetings all day with the Wayne Enterprises board, then a working dinner, and then he’s out on patrol in Gotham for most of the night. 

He gets back to the Batcave after midnight, logging in his notes from the night and stripping off his armor before heading upstairs to the manor. Bruce stops on the ground floor of the manor as he hears sounds coming from the pantry and assumes Barry has made himself at home. 

“Try not to eat everything in the pantry tonight,” Bruce yells before heading up the stairs to shower and go to bed. He’s sore all over from getting thrown into a brick wall by the blowback from some idiot that didn’t understand grenades. 

He takes the hottest shower he can stand, trying to soothe some of the bruises blooming across his back, and changes into his most comfortable pajama pants and t-shirt. When Bruce steps out of his dressing room, running a towel over his wet hair, he finds Barry zipping around his bedroom, touching things. 

“What are you doing?” Bruce says, pausing in the doorway and staring as Barry zips around the room and out into the hallway. He seems to have made himself at home, zipping around barefoot in sweats and a way too big tank top.

Barry stops in the middle of the room and says, “I’m just exploring. Do you know my room is bigger than my last apartment?” 

“That’s not surprising,” Bruce says, giving Barry a look. Like anything in Wayne Manor is going to compare negatively to the studio apartments and vacant buildings Barry’s lived in over the years. “You were squatting in an abandoned building, of course your last apartment was a shoe box.”

Barry frowns and says, “Hurtful but true.” He keeps touching things and finds the remote for the in-ceiling TV. “Holy shit,” Barry gasps as the TV lowers out of the ceiling, dropping to sit on the end of Bruce’s bed. “How rich are you?” 

“Very,” Bruce says, smirking at him. “You know, that’s not a toy.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “I know, I know, it’s just cool. Why doesn’t my room have one of these?”

“Which room are you in?” Bruce asks. He didn’t give Alfred any direction on where to put Barry in the manor, just a vague request to make sure it’s more comfortable than what he’d been living in lately. 

Barry points out the door and says, “I’m two doors down from you, in the room that’s got a very red and grey thing going for it.”

Bruce nods; it makes sense that Alfred put him in the family wing. There’s not much point in isolating Barry in the guest wing of the house; if tonight was any indication he’d end up going where he wanted anyway. “Then no, you have a wall mounted tv in the cabinet across from your bed.”

He goes to throw the towel in back into the dressing room and groans, still sore all along his back. Bruce closes his eyes and rolls his shoulders, trying to work out the soreness. There was a time when getting thrown into a wall wouldn’t have hurt this much. 

“Are you okay?” Barry asks from his spot on Bruce’s bed. He’s made himself comfortable, feet tucked under him as he flips through channels on Bruce’s TV. 

“I got thrown into a wall tonight,” Bruce says, glaring at Barry’s perch on his bed. This is what he gets for using sex to get Barry to do as he’s told; he’s already getting too familiar. “I’m just sore and annoyed that I’m sore.”

Barry nods and hmms. “I could blow you,” Barry says, looking at Bruce quickly, then darting his eyes back to the TV. 

“What?” Bruce asks, surprised. 

Barry shrugs, seeming to aim for casual and miss by a mile. “It won’t make you less sore, but you’ll be less annoyed at least.” 

Bruce starts to say no. He didn’t intend for this to become a _thing_ \-- but he’s tired and sore, and Barry’s got a mouth that looks like it was made to suck dick, so he says, “Okay,” and pulls his shirt up and off, throwing it toward the dressing room. 

Barry’s still sitting on the edge of the bed with the remote in hand when Bruce drops his hands to his pajama pants. “Please put the TV away,” Bruce says, glaring at Barry until he fumbles with the remote, mumbling, “Sorry, right, sorry”, before he hits the button to raise the TV and zips to put the remote away. 

Bruce rolls his eyes, already second-guessing the decision to do this again, and drops his pajama bottoms and climbs up into his bed, sitting up against the headboard. Barry scrambles back up on the bed, leaning over Bruce for a second before kissing him like he’s drowning and the key to his survival is Bruce’s mouth. It would be overwhelming if Bruce wasn’t so in control of himself. He breaks the kiss, gripping Barry by his hair that’s starting to get a little long, and says, “Close the door and take off your clothes.”

Barry nods and then zips away, nearly slamming the bedroom door, and leaving a whirlwind of clothes across the floor before he’s back on the bed, lying on his stomach in front of Bruce. Bruce looks down at him and raises an eyebrow, and Barry laughs, sounding nervous, and then he’s taking Bruce into his mouth, not hesitating to try to get as much of him in as possible on the first try. 

Bruce gasps, hand going to grip Barry’s hair as he’s proven right that yes, Barry does have a mouth made for sucking dick. “Jesus,” Bruce mumbles as Barry pulls off to lick Bruce’s dick from base to tip. Barry looks up at him as his tongue makes it back up to the tip, and then he swallows Bruce down again, head bobbing as he really gets to work. Bruce is sure his hand in Barry’s hair is hurting, and he’s sure he doesn’t care, since he feels like all of his brain cells are being sucked out of his dick. Bruce feels that familiar tightening in his balls and has a brief wild thought -- _I don’t want to come in his mouth_ \-- that has him tightening his grip on Barry’s hair and dragging him up and off his dick. 

“What the --,” Barry says before Bruce silences him with a kiss, pulling until Barry is straddling him with one hand braced on the headboard. “I wasn’t done, you know,” Barry mutters into Bruce’s mouth. Bruce would think Barry was annoyed if he wasn’t practically humping his leg. 

“I wanna fuck you,” Bruce says, moving to bite that spot on Barry’s neck that has already healed in the day since he last tried to leave a mark. 

Barry groans and leans farther into Bruce’s space and says, “Yes, that would be...” He trails off as Bruce grabs his dick and starts roughly jerking him. “That would be very, very good. Just let me,” Barry says, flapping his hand in what Bruce assumes is his sign language for zipping off to prep himself. 

Bruce squeezes Barry’s dick, just a little, and licks a line up his neck to his ear and says, “No, I didn’t get to do it last time. I’m doing it now.” 

Barry thrusts into Bruce’s hand, dropping one hand off of the headboard to grip Bruce’s shoulder. “But,” Barry says, gasping as Bruce’s thumb sweeps over the head of his dick, “I’ll be so fast.”

Bruce laughs, a low deep sound that surprises him. “Faster is not always better,” Bruce says, pressing a kiss to the underside of Barry’s chin as he fumbles with one hand at the bedside table for the lube he knows is there. “You need to learn some patience.”

Barry laughs and slaps Bruce’s hand away to reach for and grab the lube, pressing it into Bruce’s hand. “Patience is overrated,” Barry says. “Hurry up.”

Bruce ignores him. He stops jerking Barry off to slick up his fingers and get a good grip on Barry’s waist, and starts with one finger, going slow. Barry rocks back onto his finger and starts jerking himself off, slowing down at Bruce’s raised eyebrow. He takes one finger easily and when Bruce asks, “More?” the “God, yes,” that follows makes Bruce laugh. 

“Remember what I said about patience,” Bruce says, adding a second finger and continuing to open Barry up. It’s only a few moments before Bruce is adding a third and Barry is whining as he rocks back onto Bruce’s fingers, the sound going right to Bruce’s dick and making him want to give up on this whole patience thing and push him back and fuck him.

“Bruce, please,” Barry says, hand going tight on Bruce’s shoulder. 

Bruce nods and says, “Okay, okay,” slowly drawing his fingers out and pushing Barry back toward the foot of the bed. “Turn around,” Bruce says, reaching for the lube again.

Barry scrambles back, turning over onto his stomach and getting up on his hands and knees. Bruce slicks himself up, then grips the base of his dick and closes his eyes for a moment trying to center himself, and then he grabs Barry’s hips, lines himself up, and pushes in slowly until he bottoms out and they’re pressed together as close as they can get. Barry’s arms are out in front of him, gripping the comforter, and he’s got his forehead pressed into the bed, panting. 

Bruce runs a hand up his back and asks, “You ready?” He’s not moving yet, but his self-control can only go so far, and Barry is clenching around him as they sit there, unmoving. 

Barry nods, still face down on the bed. He leans up and presses back into Bruce and says, “I’m good, I’m good, this is me being patient. Move.”

And Bruce nods, adjusts his grip on Barry’s hips, and does. He starts out slow, just barely canting his hips forward as Barry rocks back to meet him. Bruce keeps it slow for a while, until Barry chokes out a brief, “Bruce, _please_ ,” and then he speeds up, fucking him hard enough that the bed frame starts to move. 

“Oh fuck,” Barry moans, hands scrambling and tightening on the comforter again as he leans forward, face pressed against the mattress. Bruce doesn’t let up -- he doubts he could if he wanted to -- so he just keeps going, hands gripping Barry’s hips tightly as he fucks him into the mattress. He’s close; he’s been close since he pulled Barry off his dick what feels like hours ago. Bruce reaches around and gets a hand on Barry’s dick, letting his thrusts work to jerk him off. 

Barry moans and then moans again, somehow pressing his head even harder against the mattress, before Bruce can feel him clenching around him as he comes all over Bruce’s hand and the bed, panting as he tries to catch his breath. “Fuck,” Barry says, still panting as Bruce pounds into him once, twice, three more times before he’s coming too, gripping Barry’s hips hard enough to bruise for as long as it takes before his metabolism will let him recover. 

Bruce collapses half across Barry’s back and half on the bed, his dick just hard enough to still be inside of him, and just breathes for a few minutes. 

“I’m really glad you made me move in here,” Barry says, face still pressed into the mattress. “Like, it was a top ten idea. Top five, even. Great plan.”

Bruce groans and pushes up so he’s not lying on him. He slowly pulls out and says, “Aren’t you supposed to be more mellow after an orgasm? You’re babbling as much as ever.”

“The speed force means I have a really awesome recovery time,” Barry mumbles, barely lifting his head up. “Give me like two more minutes and I’ll be fully back to normal.”

“Wonderful,” Bruce says. He reaches up to pull the comforter down and motions at Barry to move. “Come on, lift up. It’s 2 am and I’ve got a 10 am call with my board.” 

He moves, and Bruce finishes pulling down the comforter and sliding in under the sheets. Barry sits there, looking confused, while Bruce gets in bed. “Should I.. go? I should go, right? I have my own room, so I’m just gonna,” he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. 

Bruce grabs his other hand and tugs, pulling Barry until he’s lying down next to him. “Just go to sleep, Barry,” Bruce says, hitting the button on his headboard that controls the lights and pulling Barry until his back is flush with Bruce’s chest. 

“Okay, cool cool. Sleepovers are allowed post-sex, good to know,” Barry says, settling in and rearranging Bruce’s arm around his waist to his comfort. 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Yes, generally it’s okay to sleep over after sex. Now shut up and go to sleep,” Bruce says, closing his eyes and willing Barry and himself to fall asleep. 

Surprisingly, for once in his life, it works. 

*  
Bruce sleeps better than he has in months and wakes up well after Barry has left for work in Central City. He gets up, still sore, and gets to work.

They keep having sex. Over the next two months, Bruce can count on one hand the number of nights he goes to bed alone. It's interesting and a great low-pressure stress reliever. 

Bruce has just gotten back to Gotham after a day of meetings in Metropolis when he finds Alfred directling several of the day staff in moving things out of Barry’s room. 

“What’s going on here?” Bruce asks, confused. He hasn’t kept up with Barry’s search for an apartment in Central City, but he’s sure he would have said something so Bruce could at least buy the building. 

Alfred directs one of the men down the hall, then turns to Bruce. “I’m moving Master Barry’s things to the master bedroom, since he never sleeps here,” Alfred says.

If Bruce still had the ability to flush, he’s sure he’d be embarrassed about being called out on his sex life, but he’d eliminated that part of himself years ago. 

“Right,” Bruce says, meeting Alfred’s stare head-on. “I’m still not understanding why his things need to be moved? I’m sure he still uses the closets in here.”

Alfred gives him a look. “You have a second closet in your bedroom; it’s empty,” Alfred says. “It would obviously be more convenient to have his things close at hand.”

“He has that super speed thing,” Bruce says, frowning. “I’m sure running down the hall to get dressed isn’t that big of an issue.”

Alfred looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “You’re welcome to ask him when he gets home tonight,” Alfred says, looking at Bruce over the rims of his glasses. “Until then, I’ll be closing this room up so we don’t have to clean it.”

Bruce nods. “I’ll talk to him,” he says, making a note to bring it up when he gets in from patrolling later that night. “If he doesn’t think it’s odd, I guess I’ll get used to it.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow at him. “I doubt he’d find it odd,” Alfred says. “Barry seems like a very easy-going young man.”

“We’re trying to get him to be a little less easy-going, Alfred,” Bruce says, grimacing. “That attitude is how he ended up living in an abandoned warehouse.”

Alfred snorts. “I very much doubt he’s going to give up a king-sized bed in a mansion to go back to an abandoned warehouse.”

“Let’s hope,” Bruce says. Then he gestures to the hallway where the men seem to be finishing up his bedroom. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll be downstairs.”

Alfred nods and lets Bruce go as he gets back to directing the staff. 

Bruce goes down to the Batcave and gets to work reviewing info on crime patterns in Gotham over the last few weeks, and starts mapping out his patrol route for the night. He logs the map into his GPS, checks his weapons to make sure he’s fully stocked for the night, and gets ready to head out. 

*  
Bruce ends up breaking up a robbery that keeps him out well past 3 am. He tells Alfred to turn in when he’s on his way back home, uninjured but annoyed, and comes home to an empty Batcave and a quiet house. 

He showers in the bathroom in the Batcave, emails his assistant to cancel anything on his calendar before 1pm, and heads up to bed. He doesn’t bother to turn on a light -- he can find everything in the house in the dark -- but Bruce still manages to not notice Barry asleep in his bed until he’s climbing in next to him. 

Barry rolls toward him as Bruce settles into bed and mumbles, “Bruce?”, half asleep and barely opening his eyes. 

Bruce is too tired to think; he just slides an arm around Barry’s waist, presses a quick kiss to his shoulder, and says, “Go back to sleep.” If Bruce were clear-headed, he’d wonder why he felt the need to touch Barry when they’re not injured, running from danger, or about to have sex, but as it is, Barry is warm and Bruce is tired. He falls asleep within minutes. 

Bruce wakes up earlier than he’d like and overly warm. He lies there for awhile, not wanting to move, before he starts to meditate and note his surroundings. It’s then that he realizes that he’s warm because Barry, who gives off heat like a furnace, is draped over him. He must have moved at some point in the night, because Bruce is sure he would have moved him if he’d been aware of him sleeping like this. 

“Barry,” Bruce says, poking Barry in the little bit of his stomach that’s not pressed against him. He doesn’t move, so Bruce pokes him again. 

“Quit it,” Barry mumbles, rolling away from Bruce. 

Bruce smirks and pokes him again. “Why aren’t you at work?” Bruce asks, enjoying annoying Barry awake more than he expects. 

Barry groans, trying to burrow further under the covers. “They asked me to switch to overnight for the next couple of weeks,” Barry says, pulling the covers up to his chin. “I don’t need to run over to Central City until after six.” 

“How are you going to patrol if you’re working until 2 am?” Bruce asks, sitting up. “You’ll need to adjust your schedule if you want to ensure the criminals in Central City don’t start taking advantage of your absence.”

“Oh my god,” Barry says, pulling the blanket up over his head. “Please stop,” he says, voice muffled.

Bruce rolls his eyes and pulls the comforter back down. “This is important, Barry,” Bruce says. “If you want to help people, you need to be consistent, even when things make it hard to do it.”

Barry glares at him, although the effect is ruined by the mess that is his hair. “I know, Bruce, I have a schedule and an alert on my phone for anything my monitoring system picks up when I’m not at a crime scene,” Barry says, pushing back the comforter to sit up. “Are you trying to annoy me out of sleeping in?”

Bruce smiles, slightly. “Why, is it working?” Bruce says, reaching out to run a hand through Barry’s still horribly messy hair. It’s interesting to see him so comfortable in this space; the first month he’d lived in the manor, Barry would have never been so up-front about Bruce annoying him.

Barry throws something at him, Bruce isn’t sure what, but it’s soft, and he dodges it without needing to move, and laughs. Barry stops glaring at that and sits there staring at Bruce, long enough for him to raise an eyebrow. “What?” Bruce asks, returning Barry’s stare. 

“Nothing, it's just. You know,” Barry says with a shrug. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before. You should do it more often, it’s nice.”

Bruce frowns. “I laugh.”

“Not a lot,” Barry says, shrugging again. “Why do you need me up at --” He stops to zip away and grab his phone and come back before Bruce can blink. “-- 9 in the damn morning?”

“You don’t need to sleep for twelve hours,” Bruce says, rolling his eyes. “We’ve already been in bed too long. If we’ve got free hours, we should train.”

Barry rolls his eyes and flops down, slipping back under the covers. “No,” Barry says. “Absolutely not. I don’t know why I’m attracted to you.”

“Barry,” Bruce says, giving him a look. 

Barry ignores his look. “I’m not going to be able to sleep at night for at least a week, maybe more, and I’ve literally trained every evening before going out to patrol for months,” Barry says, giving Bruce a look back. “I need you to stop being an asshole about this.”

“I’m not being an asshole,” Bruce says, flashing back to the last time he was a dick on purpose to Barry. He’d forgotten how very little that worked to motivate him. 

Barry just gives him another look. Bruce rolled his eyes and slid down until he was on his back next to Barry. “I’m maybe being a little bit of an asshole about this.”

Barry snorts, and Bruce adds, “Maybe more than a little bit.” Bruce pauses for a second, then rolls onto his side so he’s facing Barry and says, “You’ve only been doing this publically for a few months; it’s dangerous, and the people we fight are always trying to come up with new ways to kill us. Training is important.”

“I know,” Barry says. He rolls on his side to face Bruce. “I’m not saying I don’t want to train ever.” He pauses and adds, “Actually, I don’t, really -- lifting weights is awful, and doing all that cardio stuff without using my speed is torture -- but I know it’s important. Just, I want to be lazy once in awhile, you know?”

Bruce does not know. Training is an important part of their survival, and he’d normally have been up at 7am to get started on his day. The last time he took a day off, he’d had three cracked ribs and a broken wrist, but he’s trying to keep the team and Barry is an important part of that. 

“I get it,” Bruce says, absolutely not getting it. 

Barry laughs. “You don’t, but I appreciate you faking it,” Barry says, before leaning forward to kiss Bruce. It’s barely a brush of their lips before Barry’s leaning back and Bruce is leaning forward to kiss him for real. If they’re going to do something, they should at least do it right. 

Barry giggles, that nervous involuntary sound he makes whenever he’s nervous or intimidated, but he doesn’t pull away when Bruce’s hands drop to his waist and pull him closer to kiss him. Bruce doesn’t do those shy, brief kisses. He kisses with intent, even when he hasn’t quite figured out his intentions. Barry sighs into Bruce’s mouth, a breathy, content sound, mouth opening just enough to let Bruce’s tongue in as Barry's arms go around Bruce’s neck.

They make out for a while, longer than Bruce has kissed anyone in longer than he wants to think about. They’re both hard, and Bruce doesn’t give much thought as his hand drifts down to grab Barry’s ass and Barry hitches a thigh up on his hip. 

Bruce groans at the contact as Barry starts moving his hips against him, looking for some friction. Bruce tugs down Barry’s boxers and his own and gets a hand around both of them and starts jerking them off, trying to build some kind of rhythm even though the position is awkward. Barry breaks the kiss to gasp against Bruce’s lips, and leans their foreheads together, and thrusts into Bruce’s hand. 

“Please tell me you’re close,” Bruce says, grinding it out through clenched teeth. 

Barry just nods against his forehead and mumbles, “Bruce, please,” cutting himself off with a moan. Bruce tightens his grip on them both, and Barry moans again, and then he’s coming all over both of them. It’s only a few seconds before Bruce is following him with a grunt. 

They lie there for a minute, Bruce eventually dragging his hand up to wipe on his shirt. Barry makes a face at the mess all over both of them, then says, “If that’s how you end fights, then I guess I’m fine with you annoying me awake.”

Bruce frowns. “That wasn’t a fight,” he says, trying and failing to get the rest of the cum off his hand. He makes a face at it and sits up, pulling the shirt up and off. “That was a minor disagreement.”

Barry shrugs, once again settling into the bed. He’s shed his shirt already and seems absolutely ready to go back to sleep. “Okay, then that’s a great way to end minor disagreements. Add a special delivery of some donuts and it’s perfect.”

Bruce glares. “You’re not eating in my bed,” Bruce says. The last thing he needs is food crumbs and ants and whatever else comes along from having food in areas outside of the kitchen and dining room. 

“Ugh, fine,” Barry says, grabbing a pillow and making himself comfortable again. “But I’m taking a nap before I need to go down and carb load.”

Bruce makes a face and sighs but this time he keeps his feelings about lazing around in bed all day to himself. “Fine, I’ll make sure Alfred has restocked the pantry,” Bruce says then he gets up to shower and finally start his day. 

*  
Bruce only sees Barry in passing three times over the next two weeks, but Barry starts texting him, constantly. Sometimes it’s about the cases he’s being allowed to work and the leads he picks up as he patrols, but more often than not, it’s inane, ridiculous things. All of the weird stuff that slips through Barry’s brain. It should be annoying, but somehow it’s not. 

Bruce is busy checking in on renovations at what they’re tentatively calling the Hall of Justice, and between Barry’s work schedule and both of their patrol schedules, they’re rarely at the manor at the same time. It's strange, living in the same house as someone and only communicating with them via text message. 

Bruce gets a text three days into week three letting him know Barry is going to be on this schedule for at least another few weeks, and frowns. He knows it’s good for Barry’s cover, for his life outside of being _The Flash_ , but it still bothers him for some reason he can’t quite grasp. It’s irrational, so Bruce puts it aside and focuses on the work. 

The next day, Bruce has to return to the manor early; there’s an event that night that requires an appearance, and Alfred has already told him three times that his day suit will not work. He’s got a few hours to get ready before he needs to leave, but he pads his lead time to check his crime monitors before heading out. Bruce heads up to his bedroom and goes straight to his closet and spends longer than he’d like picking out a tux for the night. He walks out of the closet back into the bedroom with the tux over his arm, and almost walks right into Barry. 

Barry’s in a towel, clearly fresh out of the shower, and Bruce rewinds in his head and remembers that yes, he could hear water running in the bathroom, but he’d disregarded it because it had become such a normal background sound in the house. 

“Hey,” Barry says, smiling at Bruce before his eyes dart away to look at something else in the room. “What are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon?”

Bruce holds up the tux on his arm. “I’ve got an event tonight. I needed something more formal,” Bruce says, frowning at the way Barry keeps looking at him and looking away. He can’t get a read on why Barry’s so nervous. 

“Cool. You’re doing the fancy party thing. That’s cool,” Barry says, nodding. He looks at Bruce and smiles and says, “Sorry.”

Bruce doesn’t have a chance to ask _for what_ before Barry zips forward and kisses him, hands sinking into Bruce’s hair and tugging him down to meet Barry’s mouth. Bruce’s hands drop to Barry’s towel-covered hips without thought, tux falling to the floor, forgotten as he kisses him back, hands gripping harder as Barry’s tongue slips into his mouth. 

Barry pulls away first and laughs, breathless. They’re still mostly pressed together, although Barry’s hands have dropped from Bruce’s hair to his chest. “Sorry, sorry,” Barry says, giggling, that high involuntary laugh he has when he's nervous. “I didn’t actually plan to attack you with my mouth. I just. You know.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at Barry. “I didn’t mind,” Bruce says, nodding between them where his dick has clearly taken an interest in a wet, naked Barry pressed up against him. 

“Yeah?” Barry asks, sounding unsure with that thread of nervousness in his voice. 

Bruce’s first instinct is to say something sarcastic, but there’s some voice in the back of his head that stops him. Something that tells him it would be the wrong move at the wrong moment with the wrong person, so he pauses and says, “Yes,” instead, quick and to the point.

Barry nods, smiling and says, “Cool,” hands sliding back up around Bruce’s neck. And then he kisses Bruce again. It’s not as frantic as the last time, but it’s just as intense, hot and dirty the way Barry always kisses him when he’s trying to get laid, and Bruce doesn’t feel inclined to say no. 

Barry starts backing up towards the bed, tripping over his own feet a little and losing his towel. He stops when his towel drops, and laughs against Bruce’s lips. “This whole seduction thing is going much smoother in my head,” Barry says, trying to kick the towel out of the way. 

“Really?” Bruce says, chuckling briefly. “It seems pretty in line for you.”

“Shut up,” Barry says, laughing and leaning his head on Bruce’s shoulder. “You’re about to get laid, you could at least pretend I’m smooth.”

Bruce resists the urge to laugh, lips quirking up a small, brief smile. “Okay,” Bruce says, letting his hands slide down Barry’s hips to his ass and lifting. Barry gets the idea quickly, legs wrapping around Bruce’s waist, mirroring his arms around Bruce’s neck. “Better?” Bruce asks, closing the distance between them and the bed carrying Barry. 

“Much,” Barry says, slightly breathless as Bruce reaches the bed and leans him back on it. “We’re definitely gonna talk about that whole 'you can pick me up' thing later, though,” Barry adds, sitting up as Bruce leans back to start getting naked. 

Barry reaches for Bruce’s pants, speeding through unbuckling the belt and getting them and the boxers down around Bruce’s ankles in the time it takes Bruce to take off his shirt. Bruce steps out of his puddle of pants and underwear, and then he leans forward and kisses Barry again, following him on his knees as Barry scoots backwards farther onto the bed. 

Bruce reaches for the lube where it’s been stashed under a pillow instead of in the bedside table like it was when Barry first moved in. They’re both too keyed up for any kind of foreplay, so Bruce doesn’t even make an attempt; he just slicks a finger and slides it into Barry with warning. There’s barely any resistance; it feels like he’s already been opened up, and Bruce stops kissing him to give him a look. 

Barry makes a face at him and shrugs. “I was in the shower,” Barry says, like that explains everything. 

Bruce adds a second finger, since Barry is already halfway there, and raises an eyebrow at Barry. “Do you normally finger yourself in the shower? Maybe I’ve been missing out,” Bruce says, building up a rhythm with his fingers. 

Barry moans and bears down on Bruce’s fingers. “Sorry I got used to regular sex,” Barry says, gasping between words. “Come on, Bruce, fuck me.”

Bruce looks at Barry and nods, sliding his fingers out of Barry and pressing a brief kiss to the inside of Barry’s thigh. He doesn’t understand why he does it, but it feels like something he needs to do. Bruce slicks himself up and slides his arms up under Barry’s legs so they’re near Bruce’s shoulders, and presses in. Barry arches his back as Bruce slides in, and then reaches for Bruce’s face and pulls him down to kiss him. Bruce breaks the kiss, face ending up pressed into Barry’s shoulder, and starts moving, slowly at first before picking up speed. Barry’s hands slip down to Bruce’s forearms, gripping hard as Bruce fucks him a little bit harder. Bruce starts kissing up Barry’s neck, sucking hard at as Barry’s nails dig into his arm a little tighter. 

“Oh fuck, fuck,” Barry moans, gripping Bruce’s arms hard enough to bruise. “Bruce, please,” Barry adds, and Bruce moves one of his arms and lets one of Barry’s legs slip a little lower, and fucks him harder as he hooks that leg around Bruce’s waist. 

Bruce is mostly gone -- he can barely think beyond the shift of his hips, the bruising grip Barry’s got on his arms, and the tight heat -- but he bites Barry’s ear and whispers, “No more fingering yourself if I’m not there.”

“Shit,” Barry says, and then comes all over them both. “Fuck, Bruce,” Barry says, grabbing his dick and starting to jerk off to keep coming. 

Bruce asks, “Did you just?” and at Barry’s nod, Bruce groans and fucks him harder for three, four, maybe five more thrusts before he’s coming too. Bruce comes for a while, and then moves his arm and lets Barry’s leg slip down, and flops down beside him. 

“That was intense,” Barry says, turning on his side to face Bruce. “Did you, um. Did you mean what you said? You know, when you were, um.”

Bruce turns on his side to face him and raises an eyebrow. “You mean when I told you no more fingering if I’m not there?” Bruce asks. “I meant it,” he says. He doesn’t even know why he said it, doesn’t know how it just popped out of his mouth, but Bruce won’t take it back now. 

“Okay, cool. Good,” Barry says, flopping back over onto his back. “You’re, uh. You’re going to have to plan on coming home in the afternoon sometimes, then.”

“Why?”

Barry snorts. “If you think I can go another three weeks without touching you _and_ not be allowed to really touch myself, and not show up at your office to blow you under your desk? You’re really over-estimating my restraint,” Barry says, looking over at Bruce with a smile. 

Bruce rolls his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Bruce says, a wry note slipping into his voice.

“You should,” Barry says and then he groans. “Ugh, I have to go shower again for work.” He zips up out of the bed, then zips back in, straddles Bruce and kisses him. “Seriously, come home more often.”

Bruce runs a hand up Barry’s side and says, “I’ll think about it,” smirking. 

Barry laughs, good-natured, and says, “You should,” before kissing Bruce again and zipping back to the bathroom. 

Bruce lies there for a minute before his eyes fall on his tux, crumpled on the floor and he groans, gets up, and goes to find another, non-wrinkled tuxedo to wear.

*  
Bruce only makes it home in the afternoon twice over the next three weeks, even as he tries to schedule time. It’s better, but it’s still frustrating, and Central City PD still has Barry working that ridiculous overnight shift. 

It’s well into the second month of this schedule when the tone of Barry’s texts goes from random nonsense to sex, sex, and more sex. Bruce is in a board meeting when his phone pings with a text from Barry that just says, _just got up, really wanna blow you_. There’s nothing else for the next few hours, just that one line taunting Bruce for hours as he tries to focus on work. 

That night, Bruce is trying to make an unnoticed exit from a terrible Wayne Enterprises shareholder event when his phone pings again with _what if I just zipped in and hid under your desk and just slowly sucked you while went about your regular afternoon? that could be cool._

Bruce stares at his phone for several seconds, breathing deeply, and then he goes out to the valet to get his car. When he gets back to the Batcave, he types out a quick, _i hate you, so much_ , and then gets changed and goes out to pick several fights to work off the energy. 

The next day, he still doesn’t have time to make it home in the afternoon, because Diana walks into his office just as he’s getting ready to leave. 

“Is this a bad time?” Diana asks, walking in and raising an eyebrow at Bruce. 

Bruce’s mind flashes back to the text he got that morning, around the time Barry normally got in from his patrol, that said _do the seats in the Batmobile go back? I’m going to bed thinking about riding you in there_. “Uh,” Bruce says before he recovers quickly and adds, “Of course not. Come in, have a seat.”

“Actually, Clark is in Gotham working on a story, so we were going to meet for lunch while I’m in town,” Diana says, pausing just inside Bruce’s office. “We were hoping you’d join us.” She gestures toward the doorway, and Bruce looks out and spots Clark outside, talking to his assistant. 

“Sure,” Bruce says, resigning himself to being taunted with more texts from Barry while he talks shop with Diana and Clark. He gestures ahead of him and follows Diana out of his office and down to call a car. 

The first half of lunch is fine. They trade some intel on suspected movement of Lex Luthor and start making plans to investigate some new leads on where he’s operating and how he’s recruiting people for whatever new terror he’s going to unleash. They’ve just ordered dessert, coffee for Bruce, cheesecake for Diana, and apple pie for Clark, when Diana sits back and exchanges a look with Clark before turning to Bruce. 

“So,” Diana starts, looking across the table at Bruce. “How are things going with Barry?” 

Bruce’s face goes blank. “They’re going fine. He seems to have hit his stride in Central City.”

“That’s great news,” Clark cuts in, throwing a look at Diana. “He seemed really nervous about protecting that city alone, so I’m happy it’s working out.”

Diana gives him a look, but smiles. “Yes, it’s wonderful,” Diana says. “And how are things going personally? Is he still staying at the manor?”

“He’s still staying at the manor,” Bruce says, trying to figure out how Diana knew about Barry living with him. “It’s been fine. It took a little while to get used to having another person in the manor but it’s fine.” He looks from Diana, frowning at him, to Clark, looking embarrassed, and realizes that they know. Bruce isn’t sure _how_ exactly they know -- he thought his security would alert him to any spying -- but apparently he’s got a gap in his system. 

Clark starts to say something, but the waiter returns and drops off their dessert, interrupting the flow of conversation. After they’re left alone again -- Bruce had insisted on a private dining room -- Diana turns to Bruce again, face serious. “There’s no shame in taking a lover,” Diana says, voice serious. “Especially one you’ve formed a bond with through battle. It’s actually quite beautiful, and it was very common on Themyscira.” 

Diana smiles, seemingly settling in to reminisce. “That’s how my aunt Antiope fell in love with her wife,” Diana says, smiling again. “She used to tell me the story of how they had their first kiss on the battlefield after a stunning victory.” Diana sighs. “Oh, it’s wonderful.”

“I will pay to exit this conversation,” Bruce says, eyes darting to Clark for help. Clark closes his eyes and shakes his head, useless in the face of Diana’s fierce, earnest speech about battlefield love. 

Diana gives him a look. “Be serious, Bruce,” Diana says, sounding disappointed. 

“I’m absolutely serious,” Bruce says, glaring. “I don’t want to discuss my sex life.”

Diana rolls her eyes. “We’re not talking about sex, we’re talking about love.”

“Oh my god,” Bruce says, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I just want to point out that this was not my idea,” Clark says, finally jumping in.

Bruce looks up at him and glares. “But you didn’t talk her out of this and came along?” Bruce asks, incredulous. 

Clark shrugs. “She’s very persuasive.”

“She’s still right here,” Diana says, glaring at both of them. “I realize you don’t have much experience with this, but Barry at least deserves your care.” 

Bruce stares at her and asks, “What exactly do I not have experience with?” Bruce is dreading the answer, but if he can’t buy his way out of this, he’s at least going to understand, so he can avoid it forever after. 

“Love and relationships,” Clark says, starting to work on his pie. “You kind of have a reputation, but Barry is a nice kid.”

Bruce ignores what he’s sure is a dig on all of the tabloid stories that are archived of him bouncing from woman to woman, and focuses on the other part. “Barry is twenty-five,” Bruce says, hating this conversation more with every passing minute. “He’s not a kid.”

Clark shrugs and keeps working on his pie. Diana sighs and says, “Of course he’s not. We’d never have involved a child in the fight against Steppenwolf, or any of the evil we fight.”

“Right,” Bruce says, trying to will away the headache that’s starting to form away. “So what exactly are you two trying to say?”

Diana smiles. “I just want you to be open to love,” Diana says. “You already seem happier; just imagine what you’d be like without all this shame.”

Bruce resists rolling his eyes, but just barely, and turns to Clark. “And you?”

Clark smiles, but he has that twinkle in his eye that Bruce doesn’t one hundred-percent trust. “I’d just like you to try to avoid breaking Barry’s heart. Or at least don’t make it so awkward that he won’t work with us,” Clark says. “I like Barry.”

“Great, awesome,” Bruce says, after taking a deep breath to avoid descending into a string of obscenities about aliens and immortals. “I will definitely keep all of that in mind.” Bruce signals for the waiter to bring the check and gets up. “I’ll handle the bill. Let’s never talk about this again, ever,” and then he’s up and walking toward the door. He hears Diana say, “I think that went better than we expected,” to Clark as he walks out. 

*  
Bruce spends the next few days avoiding the manor. He texts Barry that he has an issue he needs to handle and heads off to Hong Kong for a series of meetings that could have been done via web conference. He can’t explain why he needs to suddenly be away, but the feeling is intense, and Bruce isn’t one to ignore his instincts, even if he doesn’t understand them. 

Alfred travels along with him and pointedly doesn’t comment on Bruce’s sudden need to be far away from Gotham. Bruce ignores Alfred’s silence and focuses on the work, which includes running down a lead on Lex Luthor that leads nowhere. 

They land back in Gotham at the end of the week. It’s late enough that Bruce can bypass the office and the manor to head right to the police scanners in the Batcave and out to patrol. Bruce texts Barry to tell him that he and Alfred are back in the country, but he doesn’t get or expect a response in the middle of his overnight workday. He patrols for a while, trying to make up for the time he’s been out of the country, but it’s quiet out, so he heads home. 

Bruce showers in the Batcave and starts to head up to bed before pausing and going to his home office instead. It’s still hours before Barry would be home, but even though Bruce has been sleeping alone for weeks now, it still feels weird. He still needs to work through the irrational overreaction to Diana and Clark’s little visit, but for now, Bruce is just going to focus on the work he neglected while he was in Hong Kong. 

He’s been working for an hour, answering maybe two and a half emails, when he hears a familiar sound, and frowns before Barry zips into his office. Barry pauses in front of Bruce’s desk before there’s another flash and he’s sitting on Bruce’s desk, kicking his heels against the drawers. 

Bruce blinks, then looks at the time, and then frowns at Barry. It’s not yet two-thirty, which means Barry should be just starting his patrol of Central City after work. 

“What are you doing here?” Bruce says, abruptly. He blinks at the way Barry flinches and adds, “You’re supposed to be patrolling Central City right now.”

Barry relaxes a little, but he’s still got a tense look around his eyes, and he’s more still than Bruce can remember seeing him. “The day shift guy just went out on paternity leave,” Barry says with a shrug. “So I got a surprise half day and a move to the day shift when I went in today.”

“Oh,” Bruce says, not sure how to respond. “That’s good, right?”

“Well, it was until I came down here and you started being aggressively weird at me,” Barry says, starting to kick his heels rhythmically against the desk. 

Bruce scoffs. “I’m not being weird,” Bruce says, glaring at Barry. “I was just surprised; this seems like the sort of thing you’d tell me in advance.”

“You were on a plane when I found out,” Barry says, still looking skeptical. He squints at Bruce, and then his face clears as he figures something out and asks, “Is this about the closet? Listen, I wouldn’t have moved any of that stuff without your okay.”

“What?” Bruce asks, confused. It takes him a minute before he remembers Alfred moving all of Barry’s things into the second closet in the master bedroom all those weeks ago, which he’d failed to mention to Barry.

Barry sighs. “Look,” Barry says, hopping down off of Bruce’s desk. “I’m not trying to crowd you or push you into something you don’t want. I don’t even know how all of my stuff migrated to that closet.”

“Alfred had it moved,” Bruce says, standing up and following Barry around to the other side of his desk. “What do you mean, you’re not trying to push me into something I don’t want?”

Barry nods. “Right, so you probably didn’t --” Barry stops mid-sentence and shakes his head. “Anyway, come on Bruce,” Barry says, giving him a look that Bruce can’t read. “I know you’re not looking for some kind of, like, relationship thing with me. I know this isn’t...” Barry pauses. “I know that’s not what you want.”

Bruce stares at him for what feels like hours but is most likely seconds. He thinks about the conversation with Diana, the way he’s been pretty much ignoring Barry’s texts and went so far as to leave the country to avoid him and feels... He can’t really explain how he feels, it’s just bad. “I never said that,” Bruce says, trying to get back on familiar ground. 

Barry rolls his eyes. “Diana talked about me like I was your boyfriend and you left the country,” Barry says. “I’m not great at people, but I’m not a complete moron. And I get it, okay? I’ve been stomping all over your boundaries.”

“I didn't leave the country because of what Diana said,” Bruce says. Barry raises an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest and leans against the wall looking at Bruce. “Okay, I did, but it wasn’t because of you. I like having you here. In my bed and my house and my kitchen even if you are single-handedly tripling the food expenses,” Bruce says, stepping into Barry’s space. He drops his hands to Barry’s waist and lets his thumb slide up under Barry’s t-shirt. “I don’t know what we’re doing, but it’s not just sex to me.”

Barry relaxes a little under Bruce’s hand, but he still doesn’t touch Bruce back. “You don’t have to force anything to spare my feelings,” Barry says. “Trust me, I’ve dealt with way worse.”

“When have I ever said anything to make you feel better?” Bruce says with a snort. “I want you. Do I need to ask you to move in with me?” Bruce is annoyed that they’re still in this conversation. He’s had to have more conversations about his feelings in the last week than he’s had in the last ten years; it’s awful. 

Barry laughs and relaxes a little more, sliding his arms over Bruce’s shoulders. “I already live here,” Barry says. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, since you haven’t seen me in a weeks.”

“That must be it,” Bruce says, trying not to smile. “You’re going to need to stay here for as long as possible so I don’t forget.”

Barry smiles. “I guess I can handle that,” Barry says, and then he kisses him. Bruce sinks into it, feeling stupid that he’d let what he now knows was feelings-related panic make him miss out on this. Bruce groans as Barry opens for him, enough to slip his tongue into Barry’s mouth as he pushes him farther into the wall.

Barry breaks away first, panting into Bruce’s shoulder. “So have I jogged your memory yet?” Barry asks, leaning away from Bruce’s shoulder to look him in the eye. There’s a spark of trouble in his eyes that sends a jolt right to Bruce’s dick. 

“Eh,” Bruce says, shrugging. “It’s still a little fuzzy.”

Barry laughs, and then pushes Bruce away from him and pushes off of the wall. “I guess you’re going to have to come to bed so I can give you a real reminder.” He holds out a hand to Bruce, suddenly looking unsure. Bruce grabs his hand and doesn’t protest when Barry laces their fingers together. 

“I guess you are,” Bruce says, and then he follows Barry up to their bedroom to let him show him what he’s missed. 

 

THE END


End file.
